


The Lionheart and His Magician

by crashbang



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Happy Ending, King Arthur AU, M/M, Magic, Merlin AU, Swordfighting, hidden identities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashbang/pseuds/crashbang
Summary: Crown Prince Mark of Camelot is destined to die. Donghyuck, a simple peasant boy, is the magician destined to save him.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 33
Kudos: 156





	The Lionheart and His Magician

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aprilclash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilclash/gifts).



> A few disclaimers/notes:
> 
> -This fic is heavily based on BBC's Merlin (although I drew inspiration from the actual literary tales of King Arthur). However, it's not necessarily a retelling of that show, so if you haven't watched, don't worry. However, for the sake of giving myself an easier time, I did keep some of the side-characters from BBC's Merlin (i.e. King Uther and some of the other Kings).  
> -I did do research for this story, but unfortunately, I had to resort to several anachronisms. Part of this is due to the fact that the legend of King Arthur in and of itself contains historical inaccuracies (Arthur and his Round Table supposedly existed in the 5th to 6th dynasties but the myths surrounding him were written during the time of the Crusades) and part of this is also due to the fact that I was on a time crunch and I had to sacrifice doing more research for, well, actually writing this fic. This is all to say that I hope the inaccuracies don’t deter from the enjoyment of this story, and if they do, I sincerely apologize.  
> -A few geographic notes:  
> Albion = England  
> Camelot = Cornwall, England (I set it here)  
> The other Kingdoms of Albion are basically other parts of England  
> Essetir is somewhere in Eastern England.  
> I decided not to reinvent the rest of the world, so everything outside of Albion is geographically what it would have been during the medieval ages, which is why cities like Damascus are mentioned.  
> -Let’s just not even get into the fact that this is set in Arthurian England but everyone (except Mark and a few others) has a Korean name. Let's not think too much about Mark's ancestry. Let’s just not do it. It gives me a major headache.

Though this tale concerns kings and magicians, swords and scabbards, forgotten prophesies and stolen kisses, the beginning is as humble and as plain as a weaver's rickety loom. 

It started, as many things do, with two boys who were as intertwined as kites with tangled tails. They slept in the same bed, ate from the same plate and drank from the same cup. In the winters, they crafted angels out of snow, and in the summers, they splashed in the lake underneath the Castle of Camelot. The King endured the constant breaking of protocol; the councilors disapproved, and the servants privately thought it was sweet. No matter what anyone thought, though, they knew separating the Crown Prince from his nurse's son was impossible. 

At least, not until fate intervened. 

* * *

The Forest of Ascetir was cold and black. Magic clung to the cedars and wrapped around the leafless willows. Hayoung Lee wiped her clammy hands on her thick woolen dress and prayed that the Druids who inhabited these woods weren't _too_ enraged that she was trespassing. It wasn't as if she had a choice. This was the only way to sneak into Ealdor without running into one of King Cenred's sentries. 

"Ma, why're we leavin' the castle?" 

"Just because, Hyuck."

"Just because _why_?"

Hayoung sighed through her nose. Her boy was brilliant and beautiful, had been since the moment he came out of her womb with pitch-black eyes and a bed of wet curls, but he was as loud as a yowling cat and just as curious. She still had not decided whether that was a blessing or a curse. All the same, she knew—in the way that mothers always do—that Donghyuck would not rest—in the way that children never do—until she gave him some sort of answer. 

"Because magic is illegal in Camelot now," Hayoung said. "And you, my darling, are magic."

Donghyuck nodded, accepting this response, and grabbed her hand. He never did that these days—he was getting too old for that sort of thing—so he had to be scared.

"Is the King going to kill me?"

Hayoung flinched. " _No_. No, not if we reach Ealdor."

"And if we don't?"

"Enough, Donghyuck." Hayoung tried to glare at him but found that she couldn't. "No more questions, alright? We have a long walk ahead of us."

The sharpness in her voice, like whetted steel, was enough to keep Donghyuck's questions at bay for a precious bit of time. Eventually, as they continued their trek, trying their best not to stumble over overgrown roots and the occasional night-critters that hunted in the darkness, Donghyuck's tongue loosened again. 

"What's in Ealdor, Ma?"

Hayoung froze for a moment, the question catching her off-guard. 

It had been a long time since anyone had asked her about Ealdor. When she arrived at Camelot, she had to suppress certain memories, and a small village with brown barley fields and simple but kind-hearted neighbors was one of them. It hurt to remember who and what she had left behind, so she opted not to remember at all. Childish, perhaps, but it had been necessary at the time.

But now…

"Home," Hayoung replied finally. "Ealdor is where our home is now."

Not pleased at her answer, Donghyuck frowned and asked, "But what about Mark?"

Hayoung pretended she didn't know where this was going. "What about him?"

"He's not gonna be in Ealdor."

"No. The Crown Prince's place is with his father."

The air around Donghyuck dampened and crackled as it did before the arrival of a thunderstorm. He was young; he hadn't learned how to control his magic. Perhaps, now, he never would. 

"His place is with _me_. Who's going to be his best friend now?"

"The Crown Prince will be fine, Donghyuck," Hayoung said, trying not to feed into her boy's lightening. Once Donghyuck exploded, not even Hayoung could tame him—at least not before he caused considerable damage. "Perhaps, one day, you will see him again."

Donghyuck's voice rose dangerously. "You don't mean that." 

Finally, at this insistence, Hayoung stopped walking. She pressed her hands on Donghyuck's shoulders until he stopped, too. Then, ignoring the mud and pebbles and sticks on the ground, Hayoung kneeled in front of her son so that they were level with each other. 

Donghyuck's face was shrouded by shadows, but she had already memorized every curve and every contour. She knew his face like she knew her right hand because once he had been a part of her, a wee babe in her womb waiting to be let out into the world. So, she did not have to _look_ to know that his eyes were glazed with unshed tears. That his mouth, the same mouth that had laughed and cried and joked with his best friend, was trembling like the branches of trees in a windy afternoon. 

Hayoung knew better than to yell. 

Instead, tenderly, she whispered, "My love, my darling, there will be no hope of you reuniting with Mark if we don't leave Camelot before the executions begin." 

In the morning, the King of Camelot would start his search for magical beings. He was armed with soldiers and iron and a hunger for revenge. His beloved wife, fair-haired and fair of heart, had been killed by a powerful sorceress during the Crown Prince's tenth-summer celebration. As fate would have it, Donghyuck's powers began manifesting the day after the funeral, shattering Hayoung's hopes that his father's abilities had, somehow, skipped Donghyuck. Donghyuck's proximity to the Crown Prince and his lack of experience meant that staying in the palace was signing his death sentence. Hayoung would not allow that to happen, no matter how much her son protested her decision.

But he was not protesting anymore.

Instead, his shoulders began to shake. A cloud formed over his head, gray and swirling, as bulbous as the round tops of mushrooms. 

Watching her son struggle not to cry, Hayoung momentarily forgot how quickly dawn was approaching and how urgent it was that they reach Ealdor before daybreak. She wrapped her arms around his bony shoulders and exhaled as he melted into her embrace. There would come a day where he would be as tall and lanky as his father. Hayoung would not be allowed to do this then, to keep him in her arms like this, but tonight, he was nine, and he was her son, and she loved him so much she would burn the entire world for him. 

"It will be okay, my love," she murmured.

The forest was silent except for her boy's stifled sobs. 

Rain fell like pellets from the clouds hanging over his head. It was cold and heavy, and soon, both of their clothes and shoes were wet. 

Hayoung endured it. 

Only when dawn arrived, as pearly and effervescent as a Queen's crown, transforming the brown bark of the trees into a gentle pink, did the clouds disappear and did the rain die. Hayoung stood up. Her knees ached fiercely and her back was always hurting, but she clenched her teeth, swallowed the pain, and swung her too-old-for-this child on her hip.

To Ealdor, to their sanctuary. 

* * *

In the years to come, Hayoung and Donghyuck found out that the summers in Ealdor were short and that the winters were long. Spring and autumn skipped over the village entirely most years, which was a pity because both seasons were beautiful. In fact, it often felt like most beautiful things avoided Ealdor, but they soon learned how to swallow life's small injustices as if they were drinking fresh ale. 

They learned a great deal more: how to farm, how to soak their meat in salt, how to make jams out of fruit, and how to deliver foals into this world. (Donghyuck's magic was both a blessing and a hindrance for these types of things.) Donghyuck learned that manual labor would not kill him and he learned how to scuffle with some of the neighborhood boys. More days than not, he came home with bruised knees, dirty hair, and a face-splitting grin. 

Most importantly, Donghyuck started learning how to control his magic. 

He caused fewer catastrophes as he grew older—minus the time he _accidentally_ turned the baker's daughter into a loaf of bread—and learned how to suppress his inner impulses. When he was fifteen summers, he transformed blades of grass into miniature roses, a time-consuming and delicate task. Exactly a year later, he fashioned a small, silver, lion-shaped pendant out of pebbles and clay. (From then on, it always hung from his neck.) He used his magic to find the freshest fish in the river and to sow seeds in fields without lifting a finger. Once, during a drought, he even managed to call upon the rain. (He fainted at the end, but the village had enough to eat, and Hayoung had never been prouder.) 

Indeed, she thought, Ealdor was not a bad place to raise a child. Or a magician. 

But, of course, not long after their little cottage became a home, fate intervened. 

* * *

The day that Donghyuck turned nineteen, a beautiful woman swept into his village on top of a strong, charcoal-colored stallion. 

She had long black hair and apple-red lips. She didn't wear long stockings, woolen dresses, or makeshift shawls like the other women in the village. No, she dressed like nobility. Her gown was made out of a fabric finer than silk, and her velvet cape was ocean-blue and embroidered with delicate pearls. If Donghyuck wasn't cursed with a one-sided attraction to one of the more chiseled lads in his village, he might have fallen for her the second she almost toppled him over—alas. It wasn't meant to be. 

Getting to his feet quickly, Donghyuck wiped the dirt off of his knees. "You're lost, aren't you?" He jabbed his finger over his shoulder. "The Castle of Essetir is five miles yonder. It's big and gray. Very castle-like. You can't miss it." 

"I'm not interested in Essetir." Her voice was cold, bored. "I'm interested in you." 

He blinked. "Me?"

She clucked her tongue. "Indeed." 

"Well…" Donghyuck rubbed his ear. "I'm flattered, but…" This was getting uncomfortable. "I already have my eyes set on somebody else." 

She pursed her lips. 

He shrugged and said, "It's the butcher's son. He's got beefy arms and not a lot going on in his head, which is how I prefer men, honestly."

Her frown deepened. For a second, she looked very cross, almost like Ma whenever he did something profoundly idiotic. (Realistically, Ma looked like this every other Tuesday.) 

"Doesn't it bother you that your gifts are wasting away in such a small and insignificant space? You are a magician, Lee Donghyuck, are you not? Yet, you smell like dung, and you talk about stupid boys as if they are your only option."

If any of the village boys talked to him like this, Donghyuck would have challenged them to a duel. Ma always said he had too much pride and she was right about everything. This woman wasn't a village boy, though. She was a stranger, but she knew his name—his real name, not the fake one Ma gave him when they arrived at Ealdor—and she knew he could do magic. _That_ thought made Donghyuck's heart expand in his chest and for a second, he could not breathe. Or speak. He didn't hide his magic, not really, not in the way Ma always wanted, but there was a difference between someone in the village knowing and a stranger recognizing who he was within seconds of meeting him.

Skin prickling, Donghyuck ignored all of her questions, rhetorical and otherwise, and said, "Who _are_ you?”

She smiled as if he had finally asked the right question. Sliding off of her horse, she sauntered toward Donghyuck until she was towering over Donghyuck. "I am a sorceress of the First Order." Her irises flashed scarlet and her words were as serpentine as the snake in the garden of Eden. "Once, I was called Joy."

"Now?" 

"Now I am not called anything. I am not supposed to exist."

Donghyuck narrowed his eyes, rapidly sifting through this new bit of information. "Your accent's not from around here. You're from Camelot, aren't you?"

Her smile grew. "Quite right."

"So..." His chest tightened, but his voice remained steady. He felt like he already knew what happened to her—there weren't many favorable outcomes for sorceresses in Camelot—but he had to confirm. "…The King tried to kill you, too, didn't he? But you escaped." 

The witch's—no, Joy—cocked her head, examining him with a new light in her eyes. "Clever boy," she said, grinning. She dusted an imaginary speck of dirt off of her cape. "I've traveled around all of Albion and I rarely find people who figure it out so quickly."

"Birds of a feather flock together," Donghyuck said. "Your magic is difficult to detect, but your accent slips through."

"And yet you were surprised when I deduced everything about you."

"You know my _name_." Donghyuck grimaced. "My real name. How?"

"I told you, I'm a sorceress." 

"And I'm a magician, but I didn't know yours until you told me." Donghyuck crossed his arms. "Besides, you shouldn't have even been able to detect my magic. It isn't supposed to… It's not…" He struggled to find the right words. "I'm just a village boy," he said finally. "Even Ma was surprised when she found out I had some left in my blood." 

"Oh, Donghyuck," Joy said, reaching out to brush a strand of his hair out of his face. Her hands burned like a stone heated under the sun. "If only that were actually true."

Donghyuck jerked away, but she caught him by the edge of his tunic and kept him in position. For someone who looked so feminine, pretty enough to be a lady or even the courtesan of a King, she had a knight's grip. 

"It _is_ true," Donghyuck said, struggling to rip her hands off of his tunic. "I'm nothing, nobody, just a farmer's boy—"

"Have you told anyone who you made that pendant for?" 

Donghyuck stilled. So did the breeze and the grass and the crows that were perched on the fence near his home. If anyone were to pass by they would think that time had frozen over like a pond in winter. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Joy asked before letting him go. 

He stumbled, falling on his knees and sullying his trousers with mud. 

“Let me explain this to you, Lee Donghyuck. The Crown Prince of Camelot was nicknamed Lionheart two weeks ago, but my magic tells me you fashioned that necklace three years ago. Which leads me to guess: you've been dreaming about him, haven't you?"

Donghyuck did not say anything.

"Your silence speaks volumes, _farm boy_. Riddle me this. Why would a nobody be gifted with prophecies about the future King of Camelot?"

Craning his head, Donghyuck stared at the sky. Even the clouds had stopped moving. He felt his magic thrumming inside of his blood, singing of a power he did not know, that terrified him, that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a deep and unfathomable abyss. He did not want to fall. 

"I like lions," he said, exhaling softly. He got to his feet, because Ma always told him to do that, and he listened to his mother even if he didn't like it. "I made one a few years ago after I read a fairytale." He shrugged easily as if saying, _what can you do? Fairytales, am I right?_ "That's all."

With that, Donghyuck turned his back on her. That was probably a bad move to make, considering she was a First Order Sorceress or whatever that was supposed to mean, but he couldn't be bothered anymore. He took a deep breath and the crow fluttered its wing. Another deep breath and the breeze ruffled through the pine-tree to his right, and the pine-needles made soft scratching noises as they bumped into each other. 

The world was righting itself again. 

"I know you're lying," Joy said. 

Donghyuck's mouth curled even though nothing about this was particularly amusing. "Can you prove it, though?"

"Perhaps not, but will you really run from your destiny? Like a coward?" 

He paused. "Yes." 

"Donghyuck—"

"There's an inn on the far edge of the village, near the River. It's got stables for your horse and a fairly cheap pint of ale. I'd head there if I were you." 

"I will not leave."

Donghyuck shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you'll get bored, eventually." 

"I will not leave without _you_."

"I'm not leaving Ealdor," Donghyuck said. "Not ever. Not even for the Crown Prince of Camelot."

With that, with nothing else to say, Donghyuck trudged away from the strange witch and her beast-like stallion. He did not stop moving until he was inside of Ma's cottage and it was only then, underneath the thatched roof of the place that he had called home for almost a decade, did his heart stop beating furiously. Only then, surrounded by his mother's handwoven rugs and hand-dyed linens, did his body calm down completely. 

* * *

"You're awfully quiet, Hyuckie. Did something happen?"

Donghyuck poked at his dinner. Harvest had been good this year, and Ma had taken the liberty of making a small pie. She even killed one of their chickens, so the pie was stuffed with meat was as well with peas and tomatoes from their garden. It was better food than they had most of the year, and Donghyuck should be enjoying it, but he wasn't. 

"Just a little tired," he said, playing with his pendant.

Ma frowned. She always knew when he was lying, but, wisely, she didn't press him for more information. "If you don't finish that, I'm sending it over to Mae. She's not feeling well, keeps complaining about a stomachache."

"It's probably seasonal," Donghyuck said, trying his best to keep up the conversation for Ma's sake. "Or maybe she's just pregnant. Who knows?"

Ma shook her head but laughed. "You're terrible," she said, but she pinched his cheek and didn't make a fuss when he dumped his leftovers on her plate. 

As she hurried to find her cloak, off to deliver the dinner, Donghyuck crept out of the back door and didn't stop until he was in their little barn. Ma and he didn't have a lot of animals, really, just a goat for the milk and a mare to help with the sowing, but it was good enough for them. Since they didn't own any of the lands in Ealdor—no one did; it all belonged to the King—any more animals than this and the knights of Essetir (brigands, more like it) would find out and take everything from them, anyway. Besides, they had plenty more than most.

Donghyuck ducked as he entered the small wooden barn. He ignored the bleating of the goat, Robin, and the snuffling noises their mare, Mary, made. Instead, he hurried to the far-right corner where a stray cat had given birth to her litter. The kittens were almost four weeks old, and it was easy to scoop them in his arms before he flopped down on the leftover straw. The barn smelled disgusting, and Ma would have a conniption in the morning, but he wouldn't be able to sleep anywhere else tonight. 

He hated sleeping by himself. He never had to as a kid and—

Well. 

No use thinking about that now. 

Sighing, Donghyuck smiled as one of the kittens—her fur was pure black except for a ring of white around her left eye—climbed over his chest and nestled in the crook of his neck. She was the smallest out of the litter and as sweet as Damascus sugar. 

"Missed me?" he asked, closing his eyes, and reaching out to rub behind her ears. 

She meowed and he decided to take that as a yes. 

"I missed you, too." 

His smile grew as she started purring, joining the cacophony of noises that were coming from the other kittens. It was a lovely orchestra, and it helped his mind relax and drift into sleep. Not just sleep, but _deep_ sleep, the sleep of the forests and the mountains and the deserts, the sleep of things that are ancient and endless and just-beginning. 

Sleep like this led, eventually, to dreams and those dreams led to one person, to one face, a face he had not seen in a decade but which—at least to him—shone like light refracting through a stained-glass window. 

A decade later, 

and Donghyuck still dreamt about him. 

* * *

_The lake was the color of the sky at dusk. Hazy blue tinged with purple. It was difficult to see anything else because a thick, impenetrable fog had wrapped its arms around the banks of the lake. The Crown Prince was standing close to the water; his posture was completely straight and his shoulders were broader than Donghyuck remembered. Then again, Donghyuck hadn't seen him in a very long time, and Donghyuck had grown up, too, even if sometimes it didn’t feel like it._

_Donghyuck wondered if he would turn around._

_He had been dreaming about the Crown Prince for years, but he had never seen his face. Now, a decade later, some part of Donghyuck wondered whether the Crown Prince of Camelot, the Prince who had once just been a silly boy that liked to skip his meetings with his tutors, stilled looked as sweet and gentle as he had when he was a child._

_“Can you hear me?” he called out, but the Prince did not so much as flinch._

_He had never been able to hear Donghyuck, and that was okay; Donghyuck had moved on, he had Ma and his friends, a barn full of cats and fields full of seeds. The Prince was merely a distant memory, so distant that Donghyuck could not even think of him as Mark, though sometimes he wondered whether things would ever go back to the way they once were. Perhaps, one night, in one dream, the Prince would twitch at the sound of his voice, would turn around, would finally look at Donghyuck, straight at him, and smile, and say, "It's been long, hasn't it?"_

_Donghyuck was allowed to hope, even if he knew it was futile._

_Hope or no hope_ , as _he strode toward the lake, Donghyuck did not call out again. Donghyuck merely watched as the Prince waded deeper into the lake until the water was lapping at his calves. He was wearing his armor, silver armor decorated with the gold-and-magenta dragon that symbolized Camelot, and it made him look like a warrior. His armor looked heavy, and it must have been weighing him down, but he didn't stop moving. He kept pushing forward, forward, forward, until unease replaced Donghyuck’s nostalgia._

_It tasted a little like bile._

“ _Wait!” Donghyuck yelled._

_The lake was no longer lifeless. The water was growing more and more animate; it surged upward, reaching the Prince's neck, and soon, it would wash over his mouth. His nostrils. It would submerge him completely. His armor would sink to the bottom of the lake, this eerie, beautiful lake, and Donghyuck would have to watch him drown. The Prince had never drowned before, and in the dreams where he was injured, or ill, he had always survived. His life was a golden, unbreakable thread in Donghyuck's dream, a thread created by the holiest of makers and baptized in the holiest of waters._

_It was not supposed to break._

_But this time, Donghyuck felt it._

_The end._

_Quiet and cold and wet._

_"Wait," he said again, and this time, he wasn't exclaiming. This time, his voice was so soft, so close to shattering, that it almost felt like he was whispering a benediction. Once, the Prince had been Donghyuck's childhood friend, and though they had not seen each other since, Donghyuck did not want him to die. “Please, get out. Get out now!"_

_The Prince’s shoulder stiffened—a tiny, easy-to-miss movement, but Donghyuck had been watching him from the start. Then, he turned his head, and Donghyuck was finally able to see his profile. His nose was bent as if it had been broken and had not had the time to heal properly, and his golden hair fell across his face in tangled, knotted strands. Donghyuck could not see his eyes, but it did not matter, because he saw the Prince’s lips._

_They were stretched into a smile._

_The puffed-up-cheeks smile, the crooked smile, the flash-of-teeth smile, the smile of the child and not of the Prince. The smile of nights spent giggling under satin bed covers as they told ghost stories; the smile of the times Donghyuck managed to successfully prank the Prince’s tutors or the times he managed to successfully haggle the cooks into giving them extra currant-and-spice cakes._

_Donghyuck's shoulders slumped. "You heard me?"_

_He was too afraid to be any louder._

_The smile grew. He laughed, although Donghyuck didn't really know what he was laughing at._

_"Mark?" Donghyuck whispered._

_Still laughing, the Crown Prince turned around again, so seamlessly and gracefully that it took Donghyuck a few seconds to realize what was happening. Then, he reached into the water with his gloved hands and pulled out a sword—a golden sword, so brilliant and bright that Donghyuck's eyes watered._

_"No, don't—"_

_The Prince plunged the sword into his chest, directly into his breast-plate, and the sword sliced through his armor as easily as if it was slicing stalks of wheat or flower-stems. Blood gushed out of his chest, blood that wasn't golden, that wasn't colored like an immortal, but reddish-black and putrid-smelling._

_The blood of a human man, a dying man._

_Donghyuck tried to open his mouth to yell and tried to propel his body to run and drag his body out of the water, but he could not do either. He was frozen, like a figure in a painting or a figurine carved out of ice._

_There was nothing he could do but watch as the Crown Prince of Camelot slipped underneath the water._

* * *

The inn was closed—it was almost dawn—but the sorceress was waiting at the stables. Donghyuck felt her presence before he ducked inside the small, haphazardly-constructed box. It smelled like whatever fragrance Joy was wearing, but also like horses and hay and dried wheat. And mud. 

Joy was leaning against the wall; her stallion was sleeping in its little pen, or at least it looked like it was sleeping. Joy didn't look surprised to see him; she merely crossed her arms and tilted her head, examining his appearance. 

Donghyuck knew he looked like a lunatic. His hair was messy from sleep, probably covered in cat-fur and leftover straw, and he knew his face was caked in tears and sweat. He owed her an explanation. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he owed her nothing. Maybe he had run here as fast as he could, as fast as a hare, using his magic to make him faster than normal, because he had woken up in a cold sweat and needed _her_ assurance. 

"I had a dream."

Joy's face remained impassive, but she waved her hands as if to say, _go on._

Donghyuck's throat was tight. "He died." He paused when he felt his throat tighten even more. He forced himself to breathe and said, "I tried to stop him."

"And you could not," Joy guessed. 

"No." Donghyuck licked his lips when Joy didn't say anything and forged on. "Is it a prophecy?" 

"Would it make you feel better if I said it wasn't?"

Yes. No. Maybe? Donghyuck didn't know how to feel. He didn't know how to answer that question, either. He gripped the wall to steady himself and asked instead, "What will happen if he actually dies?" 

" _Did_ he die, Donghyuck? Did you see the life drain out of his eyes?"

Donghyuck hesitated. "I didn't—I didn't see the very end—"

Joy uncrossed her arms and unlocked the pen. Her stallion startled awake as if it could sense its master's presence, and Joy made soft, clucking noises at it. "Perhaps," she said lightly as if she was talking about the weather or her favorite type of wine, "your dream was not about him as much as it was about you." She petted her horse and said, "Perhaps this is just your destiny calling out to you."

"I don't _have_ a destiny. Not like this. My destiny is working on Ma's farm and I like it, I like it so much, I don't want to do anything else."

Joy looked over her shoulder. "Destiny is a funny thing, Lee Donghyuck. It doesn't care what we think. It calls and we answer." She raised her chin. "Will you sit here and just continue to wonder whether the Crown Prince of Camelot will meet his end? He has the power to shape all of Albion and you have the power to shape him. More importantly, you might be able to _save_ him." 

"How?" 

"Your magic. Your dreams." The stallion rose. Joy grabbed the saddle from the hook on the wall. "I have searched all of Albion for the Crown Prince's savior, and my magic has only pointed in one direction: _You_. His childhood friend. The sole survivor—excluding me—of King Uther's Magical Inquisition. Do you really think all of this is a coincidence?" 

Donghyuck wondered why she was looking for the Crown Prince's savior—he wondered how she even knew Mark needed a savior, to begin with—but he had a feeling, a feeling that fizzled in his blood like bubbles in frothy seafoam and sizzled with magic, that she would not reveal all of her secrets. 

Donghyuck sagged against the wall. "What if I try to help him and he dies, anyway?"

"And what if he doesn't? What if you succeed?"

"Then…he lives."

"And he owes his life to you." Joy's smile was wistful and almost airy. It reminded Donghyuck of a feather floating in a wispy wind. "A king owing a magician… You know what that could change, don't you?" 

Donghyuck did. 

Promises were taken seriously in Albion. Even though Uther had banished magic, old rules still governed the land, rules far more ancient than what was written in the Bible. You could not owe somebody something and not repay them. Doing so meant risking the heavens turning against you and that was never something that Princes or Kings wanted. The future King of Camelot owing him a life debt could change everything.

Donghyuck nodded, more to himself than to her, and ran his hand through his hair. 

He knew—and she knew—what his decision was.

Maybe he had always known. Maybe he had known from the moment he had decided to make a pendant in the shape of a lion. Or maybe, just maybe, he had known from the beginning—from the moment that Ma took him to Ealdor—that, one day, he would have to return to Camelot. 

Joy busied preparing her stallion, not saying anything else to him, and he was grateful for that. When they left the stables, Joy helped him onto the saddle and sat behind him. She didn't hold onto him, but instructed him to hold the reins, and said the stallion's name was Night. 

Donghyuck led Night to Ma's cottage. 

She was waiting for him, a candle flickering in their small kitchen. There was a small bag on the table. It was filled with water, extra bread and butter, a blanket, and a compass. There was even a bit of dried apple: a small luxury. 

Donghyuck's eyes burned with unshed tears. 

"How did you know I was leaving?" Donghyuck asked. 

Ma cupped his chin and ran the tip of her thumb down alongside his jaw. "I'm your mother, darling. I could tell since dinner." 

That only made Donghyuck feel worse. He was a terrible son, although, really, he tried very hard not to be. He ducked his head into his shoulder—he was finally taller than her but it didn't matter—and whispered, "I don't actually want to go." 

"I know." Ma kissed his cheek and pushed him away gently. "But you didn't want to come to Ealdor, either, in the beginning." Her eyes were sad and soft, but there was a finality to her voice that made him straighten. "Promise to write. Promise to stay out of trouble." She took a deep breath. "Promise to keep your magic a secret."

Donghyuck nodded. 

"Good." 

Ma looked at him, some terribly complicated emotion swimming in her eyes before she sighed and stepped back. She gave him the bag, and, holding each other’s hand, they walked out of their little house with all of its wonderful memories. 

Donghyuck took one last look. 

There was the thatched roof that he had to repair each summer—Ma would have to get some of the other lads to help her now—and their door that they had made out of wood and their crude stone pathway. There was the garden—a little wild, a little overgrown—that he used his magic to keep alive during the entire year. Ealdor might not be as fancy, as beautiful, or as extravagant as Camelot or the capitol of Essetir or any of the other capitals of the Kingdoms of Albion, but Ma had been right all those years ago: It was home. 

"Goodbye, Hyuckie." 

"Goodbye, Ma." 

* * *

It was a two-day ride to Camelot. 

By the time they passed through the gates of the city, Donghyuck had come to the conclusion that he disliked horses, and he disliked riding, and he disliked the entire world at large for putting him through this. His displeasure must have shown on his face because Joy clucked her tongue and told him not to complain. 

"You'll have a far worse time in the castle," she said. 

"The castle?"

"Of course. How can you help the prince if you're not close to him?"

Donghyuck scratched his head, an uneasy feeling sprouting inside of him. "I didn't really think that far," he admitted. 

"And here I thought you were clever."

"Shut _up_. How are we supposed to get into the castle, anyway?"

"Oh, right.” 

That didn’t sound promising. “What?” Donghyuck asked. 

Joy steered Night further into the city. The castle was easy to spot; it was located in the middle of the city and was built with white-brick. It had enough turrets and towers to rival any of the palaces in Albion. From a distance, it looked as formidable as the mighty fist of an ancient pagan god. 

"I forgot to mention this, but I'm friends with the King's physician,” Joy said. “He and I may or may not be posing as cousins to allow me entry into the castle.”

"You're _what_? Since when? How is that even possible?"

"You ask too many questions," Joy said evasively. They continued riding toward the castle; none of the guards or sentries posted in their respective positions raced at them with pointy swords and spears, so Donghyuck guessed they knew her. “All you need to know is that the physician's name is Taeil. He doesn't have any abilities of his own, but he’s a friend to people like us. He’s also a mean old bat, so try not to piss him off, as you’ll be under his tutelage for the foreseeable future." 

Donghyuck's head spun. He wanted to ask more questions, a thousand more, a million more, but he knew he didn’t have enough time. "Under him? What about you? Aren't you supposed to be helping me, since you're a—"

Joy cut him off before he could continue. “Be quiet. If anyone were to find out who I really am, I would be dead. Do you understand?"

A shiver raced up Donghyuck's spine. He nodded, understanding her implicit message: _If anyone finds out who you are, you will also be dead._

"Right," he said, steeling himself. He swallowed his prior questions and settled on something more practical. “Is there anything else I should know?” 

"You cannot use your real name here."

"Why? I look completely different now. No one will know."

"That's not a chance you should take. Your mother left Camelot the night before the executions began. If anyone, including the Crown Prince, realizes that you are his long-lost childhood friend and begins to question why you fled..." 

Donghyuck didn't need her to finish her train of thought. He nodded. “Ma made me change my name when I got to Ealdor,” he said. “The villagers called me Haechan there."

"That will work."

Finally, they reached the gatehouse. Donghyuck had lived in the Castle before, so he knew the gatehouse was one its strongest fortifications. It was riddled with tricks and traps to ward off any potential invader, and lines of soldiers patrolled its walls. Fortunately, one of them immediately recognized Joy and waved his hand to let them inside unharmed. She winked at him; he said something that made Donghyuck want to wash his ears with lye, and then they were allowed to enter the inside of the Castle of Camelot. 

Donghyuck's breath hitched.

"Is it as you remembered?" Joy asked.

"Like stepping into a memory," Donghyuck admitted. A memory he did not know he still had. "It's strange." 

He thought time erased everything he once knew but it hadn't. Or perhaps Camelot, with all of its traditions and grandiose conventions, had simply decided not to change. The courtyards were exactly the same, bustling with activity as servants rushed to and fro, carrying newly washed clothes or baskets filled with eggs and tarts and sweet-meats.A tanner was arguing with a weaver in the center of the courtyard and the two looked close to fisticuffs, but no one beside Donghyuck paid them any mind. Everyone seemed busy, except for the guards who seemed inclined to do nothing at all except lounge against the white walls of the castle and look bored. Their swords were terribly pointy, though, and Donghyuck gulped when he saw some of the guard’s tossing and twirling his sword through his fingers.

If the sorceress was nervous, though, she refused to show it. 

They continued their journey until they reached the outer grounds of the Castle. The lawns were neatly trimmed and colored a vibrant-emerald green. The sky, an endless canopy, was the clearest blue Donghyuck had ever seen it be. He smiled, remembering how much he loved spending time in the orchards and gardens here. There had always been something to do or something to see or something to eat.

“Hurry off to Taeil," Joy said once they reached the stables. She slid down and helped Donghyuck land on his feet. "He's waiting for you, you'd best not keep him."

"What about you? Where are you going?"

“Where I’m needed,” Joy replied, grinning at Donghyuck’s frustrated expression. 

“Will you always be so cryptic?” 

“Safe to say so, yes.” Joy swung her hair over her shoulder and tossed Donghyuck his bag. “Good luck, Donghyuck. I’ll see you when destiny calls.”

“When is that?” 

But Joy only laughed and waved him away. 

* * *

It took Donghyuck far more time than he cared to admit for him to realize that he had no idea where he needed to go. After all, it wasn’t as if he visited the physician frequently as a child. His magic hadn’t manifested until he was ten; before then, his injuries were fairly mild, mostly scrapes or the occasional bout of poison ivy, and Ma had always been able to heal him with her own homemade remedies. 

He sighed. 

Joy had made it pretty clear that the physician, Taeil, was waiting for him, and Donghyuck figured it was probably poor manners to be late on his first day. Not that he cared much for manners, but he didn’t want to tempt his luck before he had a chance to get his bearings. The best course of action was probably just to ask someone for help. Preferably a servant, but a guard could do, even if he wasn’t particularly pleased about how quick they were to draw their sword—

“Excuse me,” a low, deep voice said politely, “but you seem lost.”

Donghyuck startled, but he _wasn’t_ about to fall over. He really, truly wasn’t, but whoever was talking to him seemed to think he was because a pair of hands were suddenly gripping Donghyuck’s waist. Normally, Donghyuck didn’t like being treated like this, not when it meant endless teasing and eye-rolls from some irritating, scruffy-kneed boy who always underestimated Donghyuck’s ability to thoroughly thrash somebody (at least with his magic). But then he saw his rescuer’s face and he suddenly didn’t mind at all. 

It was a knight. A knight of Camelot. 

He had dark brown hair and kind eyes almost as black as Donghyuck’s. His face was more oval than square, but it didn’t look soft at all. He was very handsome, Donghyuck noticed instantly, the kind of handsome that didn’t exist in places like Ealdor. 

_The butcher’s son can sod off. This is true beauty._

When Donghyuck didn’t reply, the knight frowned, confused, and asked, “Are you… alright?” 

“I’m better than alright,” Donghyuck replied and instantly wanted to smack himself. “I mean—I’m, uh, I’m looking for the physician.” 

“Ah. Taeil?”

“Yes, I’m his, er, apprentice?” Something like that. “Name’s Don—er, Haechan.” He coughed to mask his mistake and asked, “You?” 

His gorgeous knight smiled. He had dimples, which was terribly, horrifically unfair. “My name is Jaehyun.”

“That’s a nice name. Very nice.” Donghyuck noticed that Jaehyun had still not released him and he almost flushed. Almost. “Right. Well. Do you know where he is? Taeil?” 

Jaehyun’s eyes twinkled as he nodded. “Would you like me to walk you over?”

_I would like you to do a lot more than that_. “That would be lovely, Jaehyun.” 

_Lovely? Did I really just say lovely?_

Jaehyun finally let go of him, which was a pity, but like a true knight, he offered the crook of his elbow. Donghyuck latched onto it without as soon as he realized what was happening because Donghyuck was nothing if not a man who capitalized on an opportunity. Discretely, Donghyuck tried to squeeze Jaehyun’s arm, feeling for biceps. Jaehyun was definitely more handsome than the butcher’s son, but did he have more muscles? 

_Yes. Yes, he does. Good God in heaven._

“We may have to take a small detour,” Jaehyun explained as they started walking. “There will be a ceremony in a few days to commemorate the late Queen’s passing, and the servants are currently busy decorating all of the gardens in her honor.” 

Donghyuck had forgotten about the Queen’s death day. The people of Ealdor never truly commemorated it, because, despite Ealdor's proximity to Camelot, King Uther’s reach didn’t extend to Essetir. Now the bustle he saw earlier was beginning to make sense. Uther loved his wife enough to kill thousands in her name; of course, he would throw annual memorials for her. 

When he said this out loud, though, Jaehyun shook his head. “Actually, this is all the Crown Prince’s doing.”

Donghyuck’s brow furrowed. _Really?_

He wanted to ask Jaehyun more questions, but it took him a while to think of the right ones. Ma and Joy were right. He had to keep his identity—and his magic—a secret for now. It would be foolish to express too much interest in the Crown Prince, at least right now. Besides, if he really were a citizen of Camelot, he would already know the answers to a lot of his questions. 

Finally, as they neared what looked like a jousting pitch, Donghyuck asked, “Crown Prince Mark, did he do all of this with his father’s permission?” 

Jaehyun stopped, forcing Donghyuck to stop, too. They were at the edge of the jousting pitch and all Donghyuck could see ahead of him were tall wooden stands and a semi-circular dirt path. Decorate flags, as well as flags emblazoned with the Camelot’s coat-of-arms, were crumpled and dirtied on the ground. Donghyuck wondered why no one had bothered picking them up, but before he could direct the conversation away from the questioning look in Jaehyun’s eyes and the inevitably difficult conversation that would follow, a horse thundered down the track toward them. 

Unlike Joy’s stallion, Night, this horse was pure white. It looked like an Arabian variety, but Donghyuck couldn’t say for sure. What Donghyuck did know for certain, though, was that the white horse was fast— _supernaturally_ fast. One second, the jousting pitch was completely empty except for him and Jaehyun, and the next, the horse had appeared without making a single sound. 

“Whose is that?” Donghyuck asked.

Jaehyun sounded just as dumbstruck as Donghyuck felt. “It belongs to—”

Jaehyun never got to finish his sentence, because the horse continued racing toward them. It didn’t stop. Perhaps it was just a stubborn animal, perhaps it was trying to run away, or perhaps… Perhaps… 

_The eyes—they’re red—_

_“Get down!”_

Donghyuck knew he ought to listen to the voice bellowing at him to escape. He felt Jaehyun’s fingers reach out and try to clasp him again, and he also knew it would be wise to let the knight save him. Donghyuck wasn’t always wise, though, so he ignored the voice and he avoided Jaehyun’s sturdy hands and he raced toward the horse.

He knew magic when he saw it.

He also knew this wasn’t _his_ kind of magic. This magic felt _wrong_. Trees growing upside-down wrong. The sun rising in the West and setting in the East wrong. Magic wasn’t supposed to do this, control people or animals like this, and the only thing Donghyuck could think of was what the horse had been cursed. 

“No! _Stop!_ ” 

Donghyuck wasn’t sure who was yelling or who the yelling was directed at. He lunged forward, anyway, because, in order to figure out what was wrong with the white horse, he needed to be able to touch it—his magic always worked best in contact with other—other— 

His fingers grazed the muzzle: a simple, sweeping touch.

Donghyuck flinched violently as if he had been struck by electricity. A foreign voice, not man or woman, not even human, coursed through his mind: _In the name of the Old Religion, I curse you. In the name of the blood your blood spilled, I curse you. In the name of the dead and the lost, I curse you, Crown Prince Mark of Camelot, son of a tyrant, last of your kind—_

_I was right,_ Donghyuck thought, but before he could even revel in his new knowledge, or plan what to do next, he felt a mighty weight crash into him. 

He collided into the ground, and a wave of pain washed away all of his thoughts. His head rang like a church bell, and his teeth cut into his tongue. Blood dripped into his mouth, but not enough to be irredeemably vile. Donghyuck swallowed it, wiped his mouth, and groaned out loud, straining to see what had run into him. 

Most likely, it was the horse. He had been running straight into its trajectory, after all, and it certainly felt like there was a large animal sitting on top of him. 

“Oh,” Donghyuck said, a little bit of blood dribbling down the side of his mouth. “You’re not—you’re—”

Someone was lying on top of Donghyuck. Or, well, not lying on top so much as shielding him from what Donghyuck guessed was the horse. Except Donghyuck couldn’t really see the horse, anymore. He couldn’t see anything except for the face that had faded from his memories and evaded his dreams for the last decade. 

Funny. 

Nothing about the Castle had changed and everything about the Crown Prince had.

His face used to be delicate, angled like a glass flute, and his eyes took up most of his face. Maybe that was why he always reminded Donghyuck of a puppy when they were children. Maybe that was why Donghyuck had always sought to protect him from whatever pitfalls the Court could hurl at a ten-year-old. But now… Now, the Prince looked like a man, which Donghyuck supposed he was. He had grown into his face, had lost all of his baby fat, and now he didn’t look like the curved edges of a glass flute as much as he looked like the sharpened edge of a blade. Even his blonde hair, which had once been a perpetual mess when he was a child, had managed to righten itself in adulthood; it was thick, straight, and parted, revealing the Prince’s forehead. 

Donghyuck’s stomach squeezed. 

He found himself reaching out without thinking. This didn’t feel real. The Prince didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real, really, and maybe that was why Donghyuck wanted to touch him, to see if the Prince would dissipate underneath his fingertips like a reflection in a pond, like an image formed only out of smoke and nothing else.

He never got that far because the Crown Prince caught hold of his wrist and clamped down on it. Donghyuck winced, immediately, because the Prince’s hold was brutally strong, betraying years of military training. (Mark, _his_ Mark, had never dared hurt him like this.) 

The Prince’s face was white and livid. His mouth, thin and wide, was curled into a ferocious scowl. 

“Are you out of your _goddamned_ mind?” 

_Well,_ Donghyuck thought, staring at the Crown Prince, watching as his the Prince’s blue irises were swallowed by his pupils, _at least his eyes are the same._

**Author's Note:**

> A few ending notes: 
> 
> I wrote this for Cla because it is her birthday (or it was; I am kind of late with this T_T) and I love her as a person and she has inspired me tremendously as a writer. Happy birthday, Cla! I hope your next year of life brings you joy and magic (ily)
> 
> \----
> 
> As always comments + kudos are appreciated! My CC and twitter are crashbang12! 
> 
> Peace out ;)


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